


Into The Eagle's Nest

by Rokusanu



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Altair - Freeform, Eagles, Humor, M/M, Malik - Freeform, Pranks, Romance, Smut, feathers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rokusanu/pseuds/Rokusanu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was only so much Malik could take when his bureau looked like a nest, literally a copy of a bird's nest, branches and feathers and leaves scattered all over the place, before he would snap. Altaïr was so dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into The Eagle's Nest

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one-shot thanks to a friend, who, just like me, is a huge fan of Altaïr/Malik. So there, this fic is dedicated to Phebe.

**Into The Eagle's Nest**

 

Really, it wasn’t like Malik didn’t have any suspicions, but this…

This was just utterly ridiculous.

He felt his eyebrow twitch at the sight of _his_ bureau, how _his_ little space had been changed into something very, very monstrous and hideous. Surely the one responsible for this had a death wish.

If not, Malik would make sure the culpable would _beg_ for his death.

Although he had an idea who could’ve been behind this foolish act. It wasn’t like the Eagle didn’t leave any subtle hints behind whenever the man had it in his head to ruin Malik’s peaceful life.

However peaceful it could get, anyways—it was hard to maintain his composure of serenity and calmness of a leader when he was faced with weekly caprices such as this act of whatever-damn-phase the Eagle was going through.

“Oh, you didn’t _dare_ ,” Malik practically snarled when he stomped towards his desk when he saw something peek out of his journal he liked to keep, writing daily events of no big matter to the Creed but more to himself. And lately his journal had more entries of one particular Assassin and his little pranks than anything useful.

He grabbed the journal with his hand, made an effort not to burn a hole in it with his heated glare, and threw it back on the desk. His fingers twitched. He knew that whatever the Assassin had left behind in his beloved journal, he wouldn’t like it. At all.

It took all his willpower to slowly, _so so so_ slowly, open the book and turn the pages until he reached the bookmark the Assassin had placed.

For a moment, Malik’s face was blank, devoid of any emotions. And then, well.

He snapped.

He snapped, and in his rage he yelled and screamed, because what the Eagle had written and _drabbled_  in his journal— _his journal_ —was so outrageous he couldn’t really do anything else than screaming.

There was only so much a man could handle when his bureau looked like a _nest,_ literally a copy of a _bird’s nest,_ branches and feathers and leaves scattered all over the place, even a makeshift _bed_ made of feathers and branches.

And then the words and ridiculous doodle of the Assassin in his journal, the words still clear in his mind, _‘You may fall from the sky, you may fall from a tree, but the best way to fall, is to fall in love with me.’_ Accompanied by a crude draft of him falling and the Assassin ready to catch him.

“I’m going to kill you!”

“Kill who?” while Malik was losing it, he hadn’t noticed the figure leaning against the wall, the too familiar smirk already set on the smug face.

That damn face, Malik would love to punch it—

“ _You!”_ He took three quick strides and he was into the Assassin’s space, grabbing him by his shirt.

“ _Altaïr,_ ” it came out as a hiss, and Malik saw the sparkle in the Assassin’s eyes. Or course, this was all a game to Altaïr, getting Malik riled up, pester him some more and then disappearing before Malik go the chance to pierce him with a sword.

“Malik,” the sultry voice came a bit unexpected, and Malik frowned but banished it to the back of his mind. It was only a trick to get him side-tracked.

“I see you like how I decorated our room.” Malik sputtered.

“Excu—” What, _their room_? “I don’t like it at _all_ what you did to _my_ place, Altaïr. You’ve been a pain in the ass these past few weeks, but you really crossed the line—”

And, well. Suddenly, there were lips on his. Real soft, real smooth and warm, and— _no no no_ , but _yes yes yes_ , because he couldn’t, wouldn’t push Altaïr away. He didn’t know why, but maybe all these feelings he’d been keeping inside simply couldn’t be held inside anymore, and all that frustration he felt just _vanished_ with the feel of Altaïr’s mouth on his.

Although he still wanted to punch him, but that was made almost impossible with how Altaïr was totally eating him right there on the spot, arms sneaking behind his back to hold him in place.

He actually had a suspicion, when whenever the Assassin was in the same room as him, he always got this tingling feeling all over his body, or when Altaïr looked at him he felt like there were only the two of them, or even when he heard him talk, how focussed he was—how he was hanging on the Eagle’s words, as if he were the only one that mattered.

Which, in a way, was true. And, to be honest, it’s not like he really minded all the pranks Altaïr pulled on him. That was just one of the many ways how he showed his affection for Malik, he guesses. Surely Malik could live with that, as long as he didn’t die because of it.

The kiss quickly deepened, and when Altaïr nudged at his lips to open, Malik complied immediately. Their tongues met, and Malik knew he was gone. His body tingled all over again, a warmth spreading through his chest towards his legs and then pooling at his belly. He moaned, and it seemed to please Altaïr, because next thing he knew, he was lying on the bed made of feathers.

He looked surprised, watched as the feathers around them and in the air slowly settled back, and he heard Altaïr chuckle in his ear.

“See? It _was_ a good idea this time.” Malik groaned because, yes, he had to admit. He actually kind of liked this soft bed. He idly wondered how Altaïr had managed to find all these feathers and branches, when his train of thought halted at the touch of fingers crawling under his robe.

The deft fingers made little patterns over his chest, almost like Altaïr was trying to mark him with invisible words, when he grabbed the Assassin by his dark hair and crushed their mouths together. Altaïr’s hips pressed down with the action, harshly, making them both moan and buck their hips together for more friction.

Altaïr had the common sense to have deposited all his weaponry somewhere ( _there in the corner_ ), and was now busy with pulling Malik’s shirt over his head, careful for his arm. Altaïr did the same, and soon their naked chest touched and Malik felt a tad bit ashamed when a whimper escaped his mouth.

“You’re so adorable, Malik,” Altaïr nuzzled his neck, leaving warm trails behind with his tongue that made Malik moan for more.

“S-shut up, it’s not my fault, m-my body’s acting on its own.”

“Hmh,” Altaïr kissed him behind his ear, trailed a bit down, licked the spot there in his neck and then without a warning bit down, hard. Malik arched into Altaïr’s body, their erections smashing together through their clothes and they both moaned.

“Keep that up and I won’t be able to hold out much longer,” Altaïr was breathing hard, his wide-blown pupils full of lust and love, and Malik stared at him, couldn’t avert his eyes from the dark eyes, the scar adorning his mouth, how that mouth was slightly open and a pink tongue was poking out.

Malik smiled, fingers trailing up Altaïr’s shoulder and resting them there. And, with a little grin, he said, “Well then, what are you waiting for?”

That was all it took for Altaïr to go carnal on him—in a very, gentle and affectionate way, but the sounds he made were pretty close to animalistic.

The pants were gone in seconds, and soon they both lied naked, desperately searching for friction between their cocks. They kissed, hands (in Malik’s case, _hand_ ) touching everywhere, every crevice, putting every part of their body on fire. Malik felt light-headed, but not in a way like he would pass out.

Altaïr put two fingers at Malik’s lips, trying to transmit the message by staring at him expectedly. It took a few moments to understand what Altaïr was trying to achieve, when he got the message and he suddenly felt very, _very_ fluttered.

“I can’t put it in without loosening you up, or it’ll hurt,” Altaïr said, nudging his fingers at his lips again.

“I-I don’t mind, just do—”

“Malik, I don’t want to hurt you, so _please_.” And he didn’t hesitate to part his lips this time, because Altaïr _rarely_ pleaded. He licked the fingers; all the while the Assassin was stroking him in a slow rhythm. He moaned around the fingers, felt Altaïr’s breath hitch, and then the fingers were gone.

He whimpered at the loss of them, but the Assassin quickly spread Malik’s legs apart, positioning himself between his thighs. He put a finger at the entrance, waited, looked up at Malik as if waiting for confirmation—which wasn’t really necessary at this point, but it still made Malik smile. He nodded and then he felt the first finger enter. It stung a bit, the feeling unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

_Yet, wait until he puts his di—_

The second finger was in, and Altaïr gently spread him open, all the while stroking Malik’s cock, pre-come already leaking out. When he was ready, the Assassin pulled out his fingers and looked around, searching for something.

“Do you have, umm…”

“Are you seriously asking me if I have any sort of lubrication?”

“Well…”

“Just spit on it and I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” At the hesitant look Altaïr gave him, Malik sighed, because he had been in pain, when he had lost his arm, and really—how bad could penetration be?

“Trust me, Altaïr. If it hurts too much, I’ll tell you to stop.” The answer seemed to satisfy Altaïr, and he spat in his hand, coaxing his dick with it. The pre-cum helped a bit, and he spread some of it on Malik’s entrance. He aligned his cock, and with a slow pace, he pushed inside.

Malik hissed at the burning sensation, and gradually felt himself being filled with Altaïr; said man was hushing and murmuring gentle words in his ear, trying to kiss the pain away. Once the Assassin was fully sheathed inside him, he waited until Malik relaxed enough before he started to move.

The first few thrusts stung, but when Altaïr angled them in a better position, he felt a spark jolting through his body. He moaned loudly, and Altaïr managed to hit that spot again, making Malik see spots appearing before his eyes. It was like electricity was coursing through his veins, from his back to the lower part of his belly every time Altaïr hit the spot.

“You…really are… beautiful,” Altaïr gasped between breaths, a shine of sweat on his chest and back. Malik traced with his fingers the muscles on the Eagle’s shoulder blades, how they wavered with each thrust. Malik’s moans were broken down into small gasps, hair plastered to his face and eyes half-closed. Altaïr sneaked a hand between them and started pumping Malik.

He was heavily panting by now, and he could see that Altaïr was looking at him, and he couldn’t resist bringing the man down and kissing him like his life depended on it.

He was getting close, and by the way Altaïr’s thrusts were getting more desperate, he was about to come, too. With a few more thrusts and hitting that sweet spot inside him, with Altaïr’s hand jerking him in rhythm with his hips, he felt the heat pooling and with a scream he came.

Altaïr followed soon with two thrusts later, moaning Malik’s name as he emptied himself in the warm body. He carefully pulled out and lied down next to Malik. Both men were trying to regain their breath after the mind-blowing sex, and although Malik felt spent, he also felt incredibly happy and peaceful, like this is what he had always wanted.

What he’d always _needed_.

An arm wrapped around his chest and pulled him closer into the warm body of the Assassin. Now that his mind was clearer, he recognized the faint smell of the woods and something musky, something earthy. Altaïr’s scent. It was actually pretty relaxing, and he felt his eyes droop.

Altaïr mumbled something in his hair, and Malik lifted his chin, gazing at the man from under his eyelashes.

“What was that?” he asked, not sure he had understood what the Eagle had said.

Altaïr blushed, tried to avert his eyes but with Malik’s hand keeping a hold on his chin it was pretty hard to look away. Malik smirked. He had a faint idea what Altaïr had said, but just for his satisfaction, he wanted to hear it again. It wasn’t exactly something an Assassin said often, if _ever_ , so he wanted Altaïr to say it again.

“Well?”

With a defeated sigh, his eyes landed on Malik, and—yes, yes indeed. Altaïr, the great Assassin, was blushing like a virgin maid.

“ _Iloveyou._ ” It was rushed, and just to see him all bothered and also a bit as payback, he pressed himself even closer to Altaïr, nudging his throat with his nose.

“What was that? I don’t think I heard you very well. You see, with all those feathers—”

“I said I _love_ you!” Altaïr all but shouted, face a beautiful shade of red.

Malik chuckled, gave a quick kiss on Altaïr’s lips and closed his eyes. This was definitely good, he felt lighter than ever, and not so desperate on finding hope anymore.

“You are such a moron, Altaïr.” He sighed pleasantly into the man’s chest, felt how the Assassin relaxed and wrapped his arms around him just a tad bit tighter. _Protecting_ him.

“Maybe, but at least I’m _your_ moron.” Malik chuckled. They were both morons, but right now, it didn’t matter.

“I love you too, Altaïr.” He could feel Altaïr smiling at his words.

They fell asleep in each other’s embrace, bodies warm, and they were peaceful.

* * *

Not even a week later, and you could hear Malik’s screaming obscenities, enraged, making the women gasp and whisper _“Blasphemy”_ all over Jerusalem, and then the Assassin escaping the Assassin’s Bureau, skilfully running over the roofs, laughing.

 _“Altaïr!_  I swear, when you get back here, you _will_ feel my wrath!”

Altaïr chuckled, avoided the guards, jumped onto another roof and climbed up a tower. When he was at the top, he gazed at the horizon. The eagle who always followed him shrieked, circling around him, and with a smile Altaïr leaped through the air.

 

**The End**


End file.
